Rock Salt and Nails
by Bluenose
Summary: The coming Apocalypse sets man against man....and brother against brother. Cross over with CSI NY. Title from a song by Buddy and Julie Miller
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

_Now the nights are so long, my sorrow runs deep.  
Nothing is worse than a night without sleep.  
I walk out alone, I look at the sky,  
Too empty to sing, too lonesome to cry._

_**October 31**__**st **__**2258**_

"Christ..."

It was the smell that hit him first. Warm and sweet, sickly sweet, carried on the faint, cold, breeze, damp in the air, teasing his senses. He could taste it in the back of his throat, thick and cloying. He gagged, sucking in shallow breaths, the sickly sweet taste and smell lingering like blood, like a memory. Like ghosts.

"Mind your step, Detective."

"Shit."

He grimaced, biting at his lip. Picking his way through the strewn bodies, tossed aside, discarded, broken, torn, blood pooling, stretching from corpses like rivers, like grasping, desperate fingers, searching for escape. For salvation. The lights flickering, casting crazed shadows across the floor, drawing strange shapes on the defaced walls.

He looked at, but pretended not to see the sigils daubed on the walls, the blood still running, slipping down the walls. He'd see them soon enough.

He'd see them in his dreams.

He shivered, running his hands over his face, his eyes burning beneath his fingers. It'd been a long time since he'd gotten a full nights sleep. He could _it_, drawing closer, laughter and anger in the cold night air.

The flash of a CSI camera ripped through the flickering light, through the fragile calm. Danny Messer clenched his jaw, breathing shallowly, raising his camera to his yes, pressing the shutter.

The light seemed cold, clean, pure.

Holy.

He grinned bitterly, scratching at his jaw, red rimmed eyes blinking rapidly. Things were bad, getting worse.

"Hey Messer."

"Hey Flack." Danny adjusted his stance, snapping off another photo. "You draw this one as well?"

"Guess I'm on Gerard's shit list." Flack slipped a piece of gum into his mouth, chewing rapidly, grateful for something other than the taste of carnage to focus on. "You flying solo?"

"Yeah." Another photo. "Yeah, we're stretched pretty thin."

Stretched pretty thin.

Weren't they all?

xxxXXXxxx

He didn't ask about Lindsay or Lucy. Somehow, he knew that Danny wouldn't want to talk about them. Not here. Somehow it wouldn't be right to mention their names in the middle of this scene, taint them by association.

Instead, he stood and watched Danny work, his fingers and body craving a cigarette, just to take that sickly sweet taste out of his mouth.

Brooding, thinking about the steadily growing list of names under his own on the whiteboard, carefully printed in red ink, a lengthy unbroken chain, blood seeping from a cut.

He smiled bitterly. Any wonder he was on Gerard's shit list?

"How many is this?"

"Five. Five in five days." Don forced down a sudden burst of hysterical, frightened laughter. "I'm primary on the whole mess."

The fifth scene in five days. The bodies torn apart, the floors and furnishings, soaked, saturated with blood, strange pictures, sigils, drawn on the walls. Five scenes, over twenty bodies, no witnesses, no forensics. No clue.

And blood. So much blood. He couldn't get it out of his clothes, off his skin, standing in the shower until the water ran cold, scrubbing at his skin.

Feeling like he was unraveling, falling apart strand by strand. Hearing the echoing, mocking sound of laughter.

"We'll get him Flack."

"How? We got nothing so far, Danny. All we're doing is praying that the bastard makes a mistake."

"He will." Danny snapped off another photo, his wedding ring glinting, oddly comforting in the swinging light. "They always do."

Running on faith. On the same damn blind Faith that Mac Taylor always installed in his CSIs. That if they did their jobs, followed the evidence, then the killer would be delivered to them by the grace of God.

It didn't work like that. The real world didn't work like that.

The world was the Devil's domain.

"Detective!"

The tremor of excitement in Callaghan's voice drew Flack from his dark thoughts, glancing across the small battered bar. "Yeah?"

"We got a witness."

xxxXXXxxx

It was hard to see Flack like this. Worn down, battered. Carrying the weight of those ghosts, those open cases.

Times like this, he was glad he was just a CSI.

Danny moved carefully around the crime scene, avoiding the still lying pools of blood. Studying the sigils, the obscure taunting sigils, drawn in rusting blood.

He'd seen those sigils, on the walls of the other scenes.

His pager buzzed, clipped on his belt, angry and demanding. He ignored it, hoping they'd pass the call onto someone else.

But they were all stretched pretty thin.

xxxXXXxxx

"Its him."

"I know."

"Shit." He drifted in the driver's seat of the car, resting his head in his hand, leaning against the door. Watching the Police move around the entrance of the bar, the flashing lights a fragile defence against the encroaching night. "What the hell is he doing?"

She glanced at him, pity and anger warring in her dark eyes. "You know what he's doing."

"He's still my baby brother."

"Not anymore." She reached out her hand, covering his hesitantly, her pure porcelain skin contrasting with his. "Not anymore."

"Whatever else he's done, whatever else he might be, he's still my brother. I let him down. I should have protected him better."

"It's not your fault. He made his own decisions..."

"Are any of your...family saying anything about him? About this?"

"No." She took her hand away, folding her fingers together, bowing her head over her folded fingers. "But then I'm a disobedient child in my father's eyes."

So many prayers for forgiveness. So many unanswered prayers.

"Look." He pointed out the window, her eyes following the motion. "Looks like they're done here."

"So what do we do?"

"I got a friend here."

xxxXXXxxx

"I saw it! I saw it all!"

His eyes were wide and staring, focused on nothing, hands in the air, beseeching heaven.

"I saw it! He is come!"

Flack cleared his throat, leaning closer, into the witness's eyeline, forcing him to focus on him. "Saw who?"

His face twisted, awe and horror washing across his face. "The Devil. I saw the Devil. He is come to earth and the world will shake at his approach."

Flack sighed in frustration, throwing his pen down on the desk, settling back in his chair. Four previous scenes and not witnesses. Then he got a break, finally a fucking break....

And this was the shit he got fed?

"Jesus Christ...."

"Jesus?" The man laughed, his eyes wide and staring, sanity slipping, draining away, unfocused. "Jesus is gone..."

xxxXXXxxx

"Hush, little baby, don't say a word..."

Lindsay shifted Lucy against her shoulder, rocking her, her voice low, murmuring, warm beneath the sound of her baby's sobs.

"Mama's going to buy you a mockingbird."

Not that her songs seemed to do much good. All Lucy did was cry, especially since Danny went onto nights. The apartment just seemed so cold, so empty with him gone.

"I know sweetie, I know." Tiny fingers grabbed at her shirt, gripping the fabric tight. "I miss him too. But he'll be home soon."

Still cradling her baby, she walked over to the window, staring out across the darkened city, feeling the chill emanating from the glass, the lights tearing fractured patterns in the dark fabric of the night sky. Sometimes, Danny could get her to settle...

She couldnt though. Lucy never settled for her, always craved her daddy. She always settled for him.

"Please, Lucy, sweetheart...." Her voice almost lost, almost breaking beneath the sound of the child's cries, the sight of another long sleepless night stretching before her. "Please, sweetheart..."

The child cried on.

The door knocked, shaking in its frame. Then again, hard, intrusive.

"Just a second!" Her eyes narrowed, hunting, searching through the apartment for her PPW. "I'm coming!" Finding the gun, slipping it into her trousers at the small of her back.

Jerking the door open, her eyes widening, her face collapsing into a tired, welcoming smile.

"Dean!"

"Hey, Lindsay." Shifting from foot to foot, the familiar roguish smile twisting his mouth, a slight red haired girl by his side. "Can we come in? Please?"

"Sure." She opened the door, leading them into the cluttered apartment. "I'm sorry about the mess. I....we dont get much chance to tidy up anymore."

"Nah, its good, Lindsay. Homely." He made a small, reluctant gesture. "This is Anna."

"Hey..."

Lucy took one look at her mother's visitors and started to scream. Her face flushed with crimson, tears flooding down plump cheeks.

Her shouler slumped in frustration, feeling all those fears and anger starting to bubble up. "Dammit Lucy!"

"It's okay." The woman, Anna, stepped past her, sweeping Lucy into her arms. "Let me take her." Starting to sing, softly, gently, a warm caress over the squirming baby.

"She doesn't like...."

Lucy stopped squirming, her eyes fixed on Anna, silent, relaxing in her arms, breathing easing.

"God..."

Anna glanced over her shoulder, her mouth twisted in a strange, sad smile.

"I've never been able to get her to settle." She ran a hand over her face, rubbing at her stinging eyes. "You're an angel."

"Yeah, she gets that a lot." Dean's voice was strange, coloured with bitter humour. "We need your help, Linds."

"Yeah. You always do." She slipped the gun out of her trousers, putting it on the table, moving so she could keep an eye on Lucy and Anna. "So. Where's Sam?"

xxxXXXxxx

_**October 31**__**st**__** 2113**_

He could sense their fear as soon as he walked into the bar. Breaking before him like waves before the prow of a ship.

Like victims on a rack.

Scattering like the frightened rabbits they were.

She followed in his wake, her eyes seeking, searching. Mouth drawn in a cruel smile, she put her hand on his shoulder.

Even through his clothes, he could feel her touch against his skin, stirring his senses, his lust, his body responding to her like it always did.

"There. In the corner."

He nodded and walked over, the crowd in the bar scattering, clearing, abandoning his prey to its fate. He could feel his hunger, his need twisting inside him.

He stopped at the table, looming over the frail old man. Staring down at him with the contempt of a God for his own creation. "You know who I am?"

"Yes." He lifted the glass to his mouth with a trembling hand.

"Who am I?"

"You're Sam Winchester."

**End of Chapter One.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

_**October 31**__**st**__** 2110**_

He knew it was tonight, knew that his time had come. He had lived long enough, seen enough to know that death was coming for him. He scowled, lifting his drink. All this time, all these years and he'd die in a shitty New York bar.

Death was coming?

Death was already here.

He could see her, nursing a bottle of beer at the bar. Her dark eyes, cold and professional, yet moist with unshed tears.

Busy night.

"Another drink?" The barmaid, standing over his table, a tray clasped under her arm. She looked tired, worn, exhausted with the steady stream of customers, constant calls for her attention.

It had been a busy night for her too. Just like every other night in this bar.

Soon enough, though, it'd be quiet, too quiet, and her last desperate dying prayers would be that it had been just another night.

"Yeah." He smiled up at her, his eyes twinkling, a nest of crows feet creasing the skin. "Can you bring me a whisky as well?"

"Sure, honey."

"Wait." She half turned, glancing back at him over her shoulder. "Make it a double. Get one for yourself as well."

A brief flash of a smile, lightening the darkened room. "Thanks, honey."

He smiled back, his smile fading as she walked away. Lifting his drink, staring at the door. Buying the barmaid a drink was nothing, a futile attempt at saving his own soul.

It wasn't like he'd have to pay for them.

Sam Winchester had just walked into the bar.

xxxXXXxxx

_**October 31**__**st**__** 2155**_

Flack slumped at his desk, resting his forehead in his hands, feeling his eye ache, burn, and sting. The noise of the squadroom fading into the background, each individual voice fading away, straining to hear, to catch...

Hers.

But she was gone, silent. Silent forever.

"Flack?"

It had been easier when she had been here. Everything had made more sense. Everything had been....

Easier.

Now he had trouble sleeping at night. Laughter mingling with her screams, slipping, drowning beneath an ocean of blood. All of those names written in red ink, in blood. His cases, his failures.

"You okay, Flack?"

"Yeah." He scrubbed his hands across his eyes, blinking rapidly, focusing on Messer. Hastily looking down at the scattered documents across his desk. Crime scene photos, names and faces burned into his memory, into his conscience. "Just...just thinking."

Messer stared at him, his own eyes red rimmed and bloodshot. He looked as exhausted as Flack felt. Lifting his hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose, his wedding ring glinting in the lights of the squadroom.

Not as lonely though. He had Lindsay and Lucy waiting for him when he got home. A warm safe, peaceful heaven, a home with his wife and child.

"You look like shit, Flack."

"Thanks." He rubbed his eyes again, waiting for the sting, the burn to ease, fade away. "We any closer to iding any of the vics?"

"We're still working on that..."

His voice slipping, disappearing beneath the sound of laughter, as blood rushed in to swallow his words.

xxxXXXxxx

"I can't believe this..." Lindsay looked around the small apartment, her eyes lingering on Anna and Lucy, then darting back to Dean. "I can't believe it. Sam?"

"I know, Linds." Dean's voice was cracked, scratched and broken. It had been harder than he had expected to tell her how far Sam had fallen. "I know."

"Shit." She bit her lip, strands of her hair falling loose across her face. He could see the memories running across her face, all those times spent on a Montanan farm, It had been peaceful, one of the few times he could remember. "What's he doing here?"

He sighed, startled out of his own memories. "We're not sure. We've tracked him here from New Orleans. " He smiled bitterly. "He's left a trail a blind man could follow."

"Careless." Her own smile was bitter. "He's run a long way."

"I know."

"Sam doesn't run." Her smile softened, remembering Sam, turning sad, lonesome. "He's not running blind. He's come to New York for a reason."

"I know." He leaned back in his chair, sighing heavily in frustration, nodding at Anna. "We know. We just cant figure out what. Or why."

"He's looking for something." Lindsay snapped her fingers, her face alive with excitement, a cop on the trail. "Or someone."

xxxXXXxxx

_**October 31**__**st**__** 2115**_

"You know who I am?"

"Yes."

Despite his best intentions, his hands shook as he lifted his glass. It was hard to meet those eyes, alive and dark, glistening with power, shot through with shards of yellow.

"Who am I?"

"You're Sam Winchester."

He smiled, cold and uncaring, slipping easily into the seat facing him. The girl lingered, standing next to him, like a loyal servant, forgotten like a slave. "You're a hard man to find."

"I like it that way."

"I'm sure you do." He leaned forward, his smile triumphant, mocking. "But I found you."

He forced a calmness he didn't feel, forced his voice not to shake, to sound like he was in control. "So you did."

"You still have them, don't you? After all this time, you still have them."

There was no need to answer. If Sam didn't think he had them, then he wouldn't be here, with his pet demon bitch in tow.

"Give them to me. Give them to me and I'll let you live."

He knew when he was being lied to. God knew he'd lied enough in his life.

"No."

The last thing he saw was Sam Winchester's eyes darkening, flooding with black, his soul flooded with evil and power, swallowing the man whole, burying him beneath the demon.

Then there was only pain.

Death.

Blood.

Laughter.

xxxXXXxxx

_**November 1**__**st**__** 0002**_

The vending machine. Worshipped like a God in the depths of a night shift. Especially on a night shift like this one. Even the horrible coffee, sludge like and tarred, enough to help a desperate cop get through the long dark night.

Flack loosened his tie, feeling it tight and constricting around his neck. Sorting through the change in his pocket. Wondering if he had enough for an almost stale sandwich as well.

Angell always brought enough for...

"Don?"

The softness of her voice, brushing across his skin like a delicate touch.

He spun, coffee and hunger forgotten, exhaustion forgotten. Excitement in his face and eyes. He'd waited so long to hear her voice, prayed so long to hear her voice just one last time.

"Jess?"

The corridor empty, mockingly still and silent. Two uniform cop, as worn and drained as he was, walked past him, exchanging quick confused looks at the expression on his face, their conversations picking up as they walked on down the corridor.

She was gone.

xxxXXXxxx

So close.

So close and it was gone. Gone because of his anger, his loss of control.

"I blew it Ruby! I'm sorry, I blew it." He stood up, pacing angrily around the room, clenching and unclenching his fists. "Dammit!"

"It's okay."

"So close. Dammit, Ruby, we were so close." He sat down on the bed next to her, his muscles jumping with nervous, angry agitation. "Why couldn't he just have given it to me?"

"A man like that...he's used to hiding, Sam. Used to lying and hiding. He's hidden from Alasdair, from Heaven...."

"We failed, Ruby." He shook his head. "There's nothing else we can do. We've failed."

"No we haven't." She cupped his face in her hands, kissed him slowly, deeply, tasting blood on his lips. "I know where his shop is."

"His shop?"

She giggled at the expression on his face, running her fingers lightly down his cheek. "Where else would he keep them?"

xxxXXXxxx

"Detective!" A manillia folder was dropped on his desk, heavy and weighty, burdened with names and souls, guilt and recrimination. "We got some ids for you!"

"Where from?"

He hatred himself for even asking that question. Hated himself for having to ask that question.

His failure, haunting him.

"Devils Dancer."

The latest scene. The latest names in red ink on the board beneath his.

He opened the folder, spilling the names and photos over his desk. Sorting through them like a hand of cards, dealing himself out a fresh set of victims.

He needed to know who they were. He needed to know why.

Reading their names, his lips moving in a silent desperate prayer.

Darren Broad

Samantha Barnsford.

Jack Longinus

Liam Whelan

Jessica Whelan.

Anton Cole...

Turning the photos over, more names, more pictures burning their way into his memory. Into his dreams.

xxxXXXxxx

The door shut behind them, solid and defensible, shutting them out of her life.

"Lovely girl. How long have you known her?"

He smirked, giving her one of those patented Dean Winchester grins. "Jealous, Anna?"

"No. Just wondering how she's been able to put up with you all those years."2

"Same reason as you do."

"I have to put up with you." Her smile faded quickly. "Now what?"

"Now we wait." He nodded at the door. "Lindsay'll talk with her husband." He raised his eyebrows, running the sentence through his head again, getting used to it. "See if she can get us something from the Police investigation. Get us something to go on."

He fell silent and she reached out to take his hand, wrapping her long, slender fingers around his.

"I want to see the scene."

He closed his eyes, starting to shake his head. He didn't want to see that, didn't need to see what other sins his brother had committed on his soul.

"I need to see what happened, maybe I can find something the Police missed." She hesitated, then plunged headlong into his silence. "I'll go alone, if you want..."

A token offer. They all knew it was his fault, his responsibility.

His brother....

"No. I'll do it. I'll go see what my brother did."

xxxXXXxxx

It was cold inside the church, the wind blowing, creeping through the old stone building like a hunting beast. Stretching out to seek out the corners of the building with long seeking cold fingers.

Flack shivered, pulling his overcoat closer around his body, the wind rushing past him.

At least it was quiet. At least he had the chance to think, the slow echo of his footsteps resonating like his heartbeat.

He sighed, slipping into the empty pew, looking up at the cross, looming over the church, all seeing, all powerful, all knowing.

All knowing.

Flack grinned bitterly, starting to stand. Then paused, looking up at the cross. He sank back into the chair, folding his hands, bowing his head over them.

"Please, Lord, help me..."

**End of Chapter Two.**


	3. Chapter 3

Apologies for the delay in updating!

Song quotes in this chapter are from 'Lord I'm Discouraged' by The Hold Steady.

**Chapter Three**

_**Oct 31**__**st**__** 2130**_

Busy night.

She sipped at her drink, comfortable in her seat at the bar. Watching the crowd around her, fluttering in the last fleeting instants of their lives.

Too many souls, slipping away, torn free like cloth dancing in the wind.

Torn free by Sam Winchester.

Tessa grimaced, smoothing her hair back from her face, twisting on her seat to look at the man, huddled like a frightened victim in the corner. It was because of him that she was here.

Sam was here, coming here because of him. Searching, seeking for him.

Killing because of him.

She watched as Sam walked into the bar, that girl trailing in his wake, an obedient little dog at his heels. He looked around, searching, seeking, and she fought to control her shiver, almost cowering back on her stool as that dark, dangerous, powerful gaze swept across her.

She was safe, she told herself. Sam Winchester was not powerful enough to tear through the Veil.

Yet.

She was safe. Even his pet demon, even Lilith herself, wasn't powerful enough to see her, hidden in the shadows of human perception. Watching like a ghost, patiently, not interfering.

She knew she was supposed to be neutral, but...

Sam Winchester frightened her. Scared her to her very soul, her very core.

He was powerful. Strong and growing stronger. And if he got his hands on i....

From across the bar, she watched Sam and the man talk, his posture all arrogance and power, leaning over his frail opponent. Intimidating, wearing him down.

She saw him shake his head, saw Sam's eyes darken with anger and fury, his face contorted with darkness, his soul lost and swallowed by the rising, raging demon.

She brushed her hair back from her face and waited for the killing to start.

xxxXXXxxx

_**Nov 1**__**st**__** 0100**_

Sam stood in the middle of the small shop, staring helplessly at the collection of relics and fakes, all just means of prying money from desperate people, playing on their hopes and their fears.

Their faith.

Where would a man like that hide something that precious?

Absently he lifted an antique from the shelf, feeling it pulse, fragile beneath his fingertips. Throwing it over his shoulder, already looking away as it shattered, joining the mess, already broken and discarded on the floor.

"Any luck?"

"No." Ruby shook her head, her voice trembling. "They're not here."

"Dammit!" He felt the rage, the anger start to grow, hot as hell, and fought it down. He needed to think. "They must be somewhere."

If ever she'd prayed, Ruby prayed that he kept control. His temper could be frightening, raging out of control. Closing her eyes as he stepped closer, leaning over her slight form, trembling with rage and power.

If he chose to kill her, there'd be nothing she could do to stop him.

"Where else would he hide them, Ruby?" His voice was soft, the low rumbling growl of a wolf, ready to pounce. Reaching out a hand to pull her dark hair away from her face. "Where else would they be?"

A man like that....

A man who could do something like that...carry that burden of guilt, all those years...

He'd...

She found her voice. "He'd hide them in plain sight."

xxxXXXxxx

_**Nov 1**__**st**__**, 0015**_

"_Lord, I'm sorry to question Your wisdom,_

_But my faith has been wandering_

_Wont You show me a sign_

_Let me know that You're listening."_

Nothing answered his prayer, his plea for help, assistance. Nothing but the silence, the stillness of the cold, empty church.

Just an empty shell of a building. Nothing here but bricks and morter. Nothing here but unanswered prayers, wasted words blowing in the wind.

"Hello, Detective Flack."

"Fuck!"

He sprang to his feet, reaching for his gun, pulling it from his holster, finger tightening on the trigger, steadying it with his free arm, aiming down the aisle of the church, standing in the shadow of the cross.

She smiled as she walked towards him, her hair red, gleaming like a beacon. The only light in the dark of the night, leading him to salvation.

"My name is Anna."

xxxXXXxxx

_**Nov 1**__**st**__** 0030**_

This couldn't be him. This couldn't be his baby brother.

Dean sighed, walking carefully though the carnage, all neatly, tidily preserved by the NYPD. His brother couldn't have done this. Couldnt have left similar scenes across New York.

All the way from New Orleans.

He smiled bitterly, grimly.

"He's not my brother anymore."

His brother, Sam, Sammy Winchester, was gone.

"What have you done, Sammy?"

His low whispered voice, disturbing the ghosts, the shroud clustered around the scene. He could almost imagine them, wailing and crying in the darkness, in the shadows.

He wouldn't cry.

His brother was long gone. Sammy, whatever made him Sammy, was long gone. Buried and forgotten beneath the demon, beneath the lies and the bitterness.

Beneath whatever poison Ruby had fed him.

Whatever was left in his place, it wasn't Sam. Not anymore.

Whatever was left, it was tearing New York, America, apart, searching for something with the same cunning and intelligence he'd brought to the hunt.

"What are you looking for, Sam?"

He had to hunt his brother.

xxxXXXxxx

_**Nov 1**__**st**__** 0030**_

She couldn't believe it.

Lucy asleep in her arms, tiny fingers wrapped around her shirt, Lindsay paced across her apartment.

She couldn't believe it.

Not Sam. Not him. It couldn't be him. He'd always been such a sweet kid, so desperate to impress his elder brother, his father.

And now this.

She couldn't believe it.

It'd be like Mac taking a bribe, planting evidence. Or Flack being corrupt. Or Danny...

Or Danny...

She bit her lip, glancing nervously over her shoulder. Feeling like a traitor, like she was unfaithful for even thinking it. Like she was betraying him. Railing up old failings from the past.

And yet...

And yet.

Once the idea wormed its way into her head, it spread its wings, flourishing in her mind, spreading the word like gospel.

Spreading to parts of her she thought were faithful.

She sighed, settling into one of the chairs. Glancing at the clock, at hte window, at the city outside, at the lights gleaming like jewels in the dark sky.

Try as she might, she couldn't get it out of her mind. Try as she might, she knew Danny's history, knew what he was capable of. Knew what he had done.

But Sam...

She needed to know.

She needed to know. She needed to know the truth.

xxxXXXxxx

Flack walked back into the squadroom, still hearing the echoes, the last lingering breaths of his prayer.

The walls were still adorned with the now familiar dead faces, the list of names written belowe his in red ink, the names and faces he saw in his sleep, his nightmares.

Now...

"Flack? Where'd you do to?"

"I went for a walk, Danny."

He reached out a hand, pulling a pinned photo from the notice board, staring at it.

'I can catch this bastard. I can hunt him down and..."

"Flack..."

"Go home Danny." He replaced the photo and stepped back from the board. Planting his hands on his hips, staring at the puzzle, looking at it with fresh eyes. "Go home and see your family."

"What about you?" Danny staring at his friends, his eyes oddly penetrative, perceptive behind his glasses.

"I'm going to stay for a bit longer."

Dawn followed even the darkest night.

xxxXXXxxx

_**Oct 31**__**st**__** 2135**_

He had always been a good soldier. Marching through to her side with all the discipline and poise he could muster, the memory of a thousand forced marches still imprinted on his muscles.

Tessa was waiting on him, her white dress contrasting with her raven dark hair, blowing in a gentle breeze.

Safe, for the moment, from the carnage. From Sam Winchester's anger.

"Hello, Jack."

"So this is it?" He looked around, non plussed, preparing to spit, then changing his mind after glancing at her. "I'm finally dead."

"Yes."

He frowned, his skin creasing, contorting like a map, folding in on itself as his life flittered away. Dead. Finally dead. After all this time.

"And what about down there?"

"Down there..." She turned her sad eyes on the wreckage of the bar, the scars of Sam Winchester's wrath. "Doesn't concern you anymore."

At least until Sam Winchester mounted his attack.

And then all of Earth, and all of Heaven would tremble at his coming.

xxxXXXxxx

_**Nov 1**__**st**__** 0130**_

Sam hunched over his laptop, his eyes fixed on the screen, his fingers hovering, not quite touching the keyboard.

This had always worked in the past.

And when it hadn't....when it hadn't worked, Dean had always been there, been able to chase down a lead.

Round about now, just as he was contemplating through his laptop across the room, the phone would ring.

His phone started to ring.

He stared at it for a second, wondering if he had fallen into a trap, a haze of his own memories, his own needs, addictions. Ruby had warned him....

Then he realised his phone was ringing.

He snatched it up, flipping it open, listening, a slow smile spreading across his face.

"Hello, Lindsay."

**End of Chapter Three.**


	4. Chapter 4

Apologies for the delay in updating!

**Chapter Four**

_**October 31**__**st**__** 2113**_

He was starting to scare her.

His anger, his lust, his hunger for power....sent shivers down her spine. Every time he touched her, brushed those long fingers over her borrowed skin, he sent shivers cascading down her skin.

He knew.

He knew that she trembled from fear, not from anything else. He knew she was scared of him.

He liked it when she was frightened.

She followed him through the door of the bar, trailing in his wake, careful not to meet his eyes or raise his anger.

God knew, he was angry enough these days. She knew she wouldn't escape his wrath, if she failed him.

She closed her eyes, imagining his wrath.

"Where is he?"

She opened her eyes at the sound of his voice rough, shaking with impatience and anger, with power barely held in check by the force of his will. His eyes fixed on her, dark and burning, licking his lips as the pulse in her neck jumped as she hastily swallowed.

"There. In the corner."

Sam nodded and turned, walking through the crowded bar, the people scattering like frightened sheep as the wolf approaches. He barely noticed them, intent and fixated on his prey in the corner.

She followed after him, sensing the fear, soaking from them, cowardice reeking up to heaven, down to hell.

They knew they would die tonight.

She knew that he would die tonight. An old man who'd avoided justice for too long. An old man who's sin was known, told to every child on Earth. They all knew what he had done, even if they didn't know who he was.

He deserved justice. He deserved to die.

Better him than her.

*

_**November 1**__**st**__** 0130**_

"Hey."

"Jesus." He spun round quickly, his heart racing, his hand snaking inside his jacket, reaching for his weapon. "You scared the living shit out of me."

"Sorry." She smirked, her mouth curling in a familiar looking smile. "I couldn't resist it. Any luck."

"Just this." He gestured at the sigils daubed on the wall in human blood, streaked and falling towards Hell. "Same as the other scenes. Lindsay said the Police were looking at this, but they weren't having much luck."

"They wont." Anna squinted, stepping closer to it. "It's written in the Fallen Tongue."

"Can you read it?"

"A little." She shivered, burying her hands in the pockets of her light jacket, clutching it tightly around her slender body. "Drink of it, all of you; for this is the blood of the Usurper, which is poured out for the many when we return to the Kingdom of Heaven."

Silence followed her words, shadows and darkness chasing them through the shattered bar, echoing like ghosts, like the embers of a dying fire.

"Nice." Dean shifted uncomfortably, stepping closer to her, his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. "Cheery."

She glanced at him quickly, her eyes dark, angry, flashing. "It's the language of Hell, Dean. They're talking about conquering Heaven and Earth and..."

"I know." He put his arms around her, letting her lean against him, resting her head on his shoulder. "I know."

His baby brother was leading the charge.

*

_**November 1**__**st**__** 0210**_

"Hey." He raised his voice as he walked through the door, his footsteps striking the floor, his kit bag swung over his shoulder, every muscle cringing, crying with weariness and exhaustion. "I'm sorry, Linds..."

Shit. He flinched when he saw the crib. She always did have trouble getting Lucy to sleep, especially now that he was back on nights. Especially with all hell breaking loose across New York.

"I'm sorry Lindsay." He lowered his voice, speaking barely above a whisper. She must be in the bath, once she got Lucy to sleep. "We caught another big scene. In a bar, downtown. It's a real mess."

He leaned on the edge of the crib, smiling as he looked down. No matter how shitty the day, how much sin and filth he crawled through day after day, the sight of his daughter never ceased to make him smile.

The crib was empty.

"What the fuck?"

He stepped back, reaching for his off duty weapon, pulling it clear of its holster. Looking around, ready to fire.

The whole apartment felt cold, empty.

They were gone.

"Linds? Lucy."

Oh shit.

Moving through the apartment, his feet like lead, stumbling over his own feet. Seeing the note on the table, weighed down by the cow paper weight. Pulling it free with a shaking hand, feeling his heart pound and ache as he read the familiar handwriting.

_Hey Cowboy,_

_Some old friends were in town, and they asked me to chase something down for them. Lucy is at your mothers. There's leftovers in the fridge for dinner. _

_Hope to see you before my shift starts._

_Montana_

He read the note again and again, his hand still shaking, noting the way her hand had shook as she'd written the note. She'd written it in a hurry, not her usual fluid, easy writing style.

He started to crumble it up, then stopped himself, smoothing the paper. Reading it again as he reached inside his jacket, pulling out his phone, hitting the speed dial.

"Hello Mama? Mama, it's Daniel...yes, yes, I'm just home." He pushed his glasses up, pinching the bridge of his nose, listening to the rapid stream of words pouring down the receiver. "Mama, Mama...is Lucy there?"

He leaned against the door, closing his eyes in relief.

*

"We're too late."

He nodded, looking around the shop, seeing the tell tale signs of a thorough search, books pulled from shelves, discarded on the floor, like forgotten rubbish, scattered carelessly on the floor.

Sam had already been here.

"Dammit."

"What are they looking for?"

"I wish I knew." Dean rubbed his hand across his jaw, feeling the stubble bite into the palm of his hand. "I wish to God I knew."

"We're running out of time, Dean." He could hear the desperation, the panic in her voice, the fragile spiderweb of cracks in her control. "He's getting stronger!"

She could still taste the demon in Sam, overwhelming the man, overwhelming, overpowering the hunter.

"I know."

"What are we going to do?"

"I don't know." He put his hands on his hips, looking around the small, overcrowded shop, the piles of books and relics scattered like children's toys.

When had his brother turned into this?

"Dean?"

"We go through the place. Same as they did. See if we can figure out what they're looking for."

*

He couldn't stop thinking about her. Running through his mind like a prayer, a mantra, a hymn.

A sign that God hadn't forgotten them, hadn't forsaken them.

Flack sighed heavily, slumped in his chair, leaning over his desk, his head in his hands. Trying to focus, concentrate. Follow the evidence, solve the case. Just the way he'd been trained, the way he'd been taught. He'd always been rational, always followed the clues.

He'd never had, never had much use for faith.

But this guy, this sick fuck....

All the excuses he'd made before, all the rhymes and reasons, justifications for murder, for crimes, this guy...

This guy was just evil.

But...

There was method, a plan, a purpose, a reason. He wasn't just evil sick. Just evil.

He closed his eyes, concentrating, thinking, trying to cling to the fragments of her voice, of the prayer, the sheen of her hair.

He opened his eyes, smiling bitterly, looking up at the board, the faces of the victims pinned there like helpless butterflies.

"You're looking for someone. Or something." He drummed his fingers on the desk, feeling his pulse race, vibrate, fighting to stabilize his breathing, his thinking. Lifting his phone, dialling rapidly, stabbing down on the unresponsive keys. "Hello Crime Lab? Its Don Flack, up in Homicide at the 11th. I need to see what was taken from The Devil Dancer."

xxxXXXxxx

Reports of a multiple homicide....

Armed robbery at...

Homicide at...

Homicide at...

Carjacking...

Rape...

Homicide....

Robbery / Homicide...

Cars burnt out, left to burn in the middle of the street....

The city gone to Hell it's own way...

xxxXXXxxx

Turning the pages, one by one.

Reading the notes, his father's familiar handwriting, remembering the past, the good times, before Sammy, before his baby brother, before he'd fallen...

Before he'd had to start hunting Sam.

Dean turned the pages carefully, almost reverentially, his head bowed in prayer over the words he'd read so many times, both with his brother, and since he'd started hunting him.

"What are you doing, Sammy?"

He knew what Anna thought. Knew that she would kill Sam without a second thought. Knew that for her, he'd stopped being Sam long ago. Now he was just the enemy, another demon trying to tear down heaven.

He couldn't think like that.

It was still his baby brother.

He turned another page, tears making the writing blur in his vision.

"God help me, Sammy, what are you doing to me?"

xxxXXXxxx

He walked into the coffee shop, blinking as the sudden blast of heat washed over him. It felt like he was being welcomed home.

"Ah, Detective Messer." The owner smiled, the grin almost taking in his ears, spreading his hands wide in welcome. "What can I do for you? You working nights again?"

Danny forced a smile he didn't feel, unable to shake the cold dread, walking its darkened nails across his skin. "Eh no, no I'm just finished."

He looked around, taking in the few regulars of the coffee shop, nodding at the half familiar faces with long forgotten names, watching as they turned away, back to their own conversations, their own waking dreams.

Their own nightmares.

He couldn't see her.

She always came here, when she needed a break from Lucy. She came here, had a coffee, and knew he would come to find her.

She wasn't here.

"Have you seen Lindsay?"

xxxXXXxxx

He was waiting for her when she stepped out of the taxi, the car speeding away from the curb as soon as she paid for it.

Sam Winchester. Her old friend. One of her best friends. She'd always been closer to him than Dean, had always felt that Dean was just a little too...

She smiled and walked towards him, feeling the evening chill washing over her, hearing the cry of a lone bird circling overhead, lost in the night, pinned in the gaze of a hunter.

Sam smiled at her, and her own smile faltered, slipping from her face, her blood chilled, frozen.

She could see his eyes now, holding her in place like his prey.

Yellow.

Cold.

Evil.

**End of Chapter Four.**


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